


Lend Your Hand 'Til I am Found

by curlshire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, nipple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlshire/pseuds/curlshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis catches Harry getting off, and he can't seem to get it off his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lend Your Hand 'Til I am Found

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just dominant!Louis and nipple play!Harry, with a teeny bit of an exhibition kink, I suppose.

  It all starts out accidentally, to be quite honest.

  It was just one of those days where Harry’s way too worked up, and normally Louis can deal with that, but not tonight; he’s got a splitting headache, and he’s just finished doing a solo interview for a local radio show when the worst of the pain hits him.  He knows that Harry’s going to be waiting for him – fuck, he’s probably even already fingered himself open in preparation, he realizes – but he can barely even walk straight with this headache.

  Louis pads through the door to their shared hotel room, a grimace on his face and a hand clamped round his forehead.  As soon as Harry spots him he’s up in a flash, eyes bright and a hint of desperation visible in the way he moves.

  Harry’s on him in an instant, lips fervent and slick as his tongue prods past Louis’s lips. “Missed you,” Harry breathes into his mouth.

  Louis tries not to think about the splitting ache in his head, tries to just scrunch his brows together and move past it, but with every slide of Harry’s lips against his own there’s another powerful throb that makes him feel like his skull is being put through a garlic press.  “Missed you too,” he mumbles back, but even he can hear the way his voice sounds just like a pained groan shaped out into words.

  Harry stops immediately and pulls back, his previously eager expression replaced with one of concern. “Lou?  What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, just…feeling a bit ill, s’all.” Louis shrugs, taking this opportunity to trudge over to the bed and sink down on his side.

  Harry nods and tries to regain some composure as he realizes that he will _not_ be taken care of like he’d hoped. “Oh.  Um, you should get some sleep, then,” he says with a weak smile, running his fingers through his curls and licking at his kiss-swollen lips a few times.

  A pang of guilt stabs at Louis’s chest as he realizes that Harry was cooped up here all night, working himself up in anticipation of Louis’s return, only to be left hanging like this. “Tomorrow, yeah?” Louis promises as he pulls his shirt off over his head and leans back on the mattress to pull his trousers down his legs, trying to strip down without actually getting up off the bed.

  Harry nods and grabs a bottle of paracetamol and hands it to Louis, along with one of the ridiculously overpriced bottles of water from the mini-fridge. “Yeah, course.”

  Louis places two tablets on his tongue and washes them down with a gulp of water before nuzzling himself under the covers and burying his face in the pillow. “Night, Harry.  Love you,” he manages to mumble before slipping into a state that can’t quite be classified as being asleep, but he’s not exactly conscious either.  He’s vaguely aware of Harry padding about the room, but he just can’t get enough of a grasp on his surroundings to figure out what he’s doing.

  He’s not even aware of the fact that he’s drifted off to sleep until he wakes up.  He’s jostled awake by the mattress sinking down as Harry slowly crawls in bed next to him, naked save for a pair of tight little Topman underwear.  Louis can tell how desperate Harry is not to rouse him, so he continues to feign sleep if for no other reason than to avoid making Harry feel guilty for waking him.

  But even after Harry has settled into bed, he continues to wriggle around slightly, fidgeting with something, and Louis peeks an eye open to see Harry struggling to quietly open a bottle of lube.  The cap finally flips open with a quiet _snap_ , and Harry greedily pours out a copious amount, squeezing his hand into a fist to try to coat the lube across his hand before setting the container back on the nightstand.

  He snakes his clean hand down his body, pulling his pants down until they’re bunched around the tops of his thighs.  Louis’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees Harry’s other hand reach down to smooth the lube across his half-hard cock, and the realization of what Harry’s about to do hits him.

  His little gasp comes out louder than expected, though, and he manages to shut his eyes shut tight just as he sees Harry’s head start to turn.  It takes every ounce of self control Louis has in his groggy state to keep his eyes lightly closed and his face blank, and he hopes Harry doesn’t notice the way his breathing is ragged and uneven.

  Louis keeps his eyes shut for several moments, just in case Harry’s still on edge, but he can hear the slick sounds of Harry’s hand jerking at his lube-coated dick, can feel the way the bed keeps shaking ever so slightly from the movements of his arm, making the springs squeak and rattle quietly.  It’s killing him, because he wants nothing more than to crack just one eye open and see what’s going on, but he’s afraid that Harry will stop if he sees that he’s awake.

  He holds out longer than he’d thought.  It’s not until he hears the little noises Harry’s making that he can’t take it anymore.  His breathing’s gone shallow, broken up by stuttering gasps and quiet weak mewls, and Louis can feel the sheets jostling as Harry writhes in them, muscles stiff like he’s trying to control them but he just can’t do it.

  Slowly, Louis dares to peek one eye open, and he instantly feels himself stiffen in his pants at what he sees.  Harry’s skin is visibly shining and pink even in the poor lighting, beaded with a thin sheet of sweat that clings to his curls and mats a few locks to his forehead.  His pillowy lips, red and puffy, are covered with faint teeth marks as he nibbles at them, trying desperately to stay quiet.

  But it’s not even Harry’s face that has Louis so aroused; it’s his _hands_.  One hand is working at his cock in rushed but full strokes, wrist flicking at a broken tempo, and Louis can see Harry’s pace getting more and more clumsy as he grows closer to cumming, and Harry’s other hand is working its way up his stomach.  His fingers, long and pale, trail lightly through the faint smattering of hair along his groin, up his tummy, across his chest, and settle at his nipple.  He lets the pads of his fingers brush over it experimentally, and his back arches off the bed at the touch.

  Louis feels his hips start to rock in miniscule little movements as he tries to rut against the sheets, desperate for friction, but he stops himself before Harry notices his movements.  He’s so fucking horny he could cry, and he has to force himself to swallow the frustrated growl that almost escapes his lips.

  Harry continues to tweak at his nipple, fingertips pinching and flicking at the plump pink bud with such routine ease that Louis wonders if Harry does this on a regular basis.  His thoughts are interrupted as a keening whine echoes in the back of Harry’s throat, and his hand leaves his nipple to cover his mouth, fingers clamping over his lips to stifle the broken moans that signify his coming undone.

  Louis feels the bed shift as Harry’s hips buck up into the air a final time, cum spurting out across his stomach and fingers.  His hand continues to work until he’s completely finished, his body visibly relaxing, melting into the sheets, and his hand lets go of his mouth to fumble with the box of tissues, grabbing a few and half-heartedly wiping himself off.  Louis can see the way his eyes are already drooping, and Harry’s exhaustion seems to get the better of him, as despite the fact that he’s done quite a shit job of cleaning himself up, he decides to simply toss the tissues in the bin next to the bed and nestle under the covers.  Within minutes, Louis can hear the soft sound of Harry’s quiet snores, steady and small, and Louis knows he should do the same – should just close his eyes, should try to go to sleep and pretend he never saw anything – but his mind is racing.  He’s not sure he’d have much luck anyway; he’s way too turned on right now to even think about sleep.  He debates padding into the bathroom for a quick private wank, but he doesn’t want to wake Harry, and he’s pretty sure he’s too hard to walk the distance to the bathroom right now anyway.  His hand wanders down to his dick, stroking at it through the fabric of his boxers, but the friction is just teasing him, making things worse, so he gives up with a frustrated grimace and lets his thoughts trail off.

  The main thing on his mind is the fact that this didn’t look like a new thing to Harry.  The way he had seemed so sure of himself erased any doubts of that.  He didn’t cast any nervous glances at Louis to check if he was asleep, didn’t seem at all uncertain or hesitant in his movements.  And the way he had been touching himself (in _all_ senses of the word, from wanking to the way he’d been playing with his nipples) seemed far too familiar, like it hadn’t been long since he’d last done it.

  Has he been doing this frequently, then?  Is this a normal thing?  Does Harry like to wank while Louis is fast asleep next to him?  It isn’t that Louis is angry about this – actually, it’s quite on the contrary; the idea of Harry trying to get himself off as quietly as possible with Louis right beside him is intriguing.  Does it turn Harry on?  Is it some sort of kink Louis had never known about?  Or is it just saved for those nights that Harry can’t wait for relief?  Harry had always been a quick one to get turned on, always winding himself up, and Louis knows that when Harry needs it, he needs it _bad_ , but he’d never thought that Harry would have gone to such lengths.  Louis wants to see it, wants to see how Harry likes to get himself off, and so, rolling over and trying to ignore his aching arousal, he lets an interesting new idea nest in the back of his head.

+

  The next day seems to stretch out impossibly long, an indistinguishable blur of publicity events and interviews and fan signings, but Louis’s memory of the past night stays at the front of his mind, eating away at his thoughts and making him feel distracted and antsy all day.  Everyone seems to notice, and Liam even goes so far as to ask what’s on Louis’s mind, but Louis just flashes him a grin and brushes it off as nothing, and though he stays rather closed-off for the rest of the day, nobody else points it out.

  It’s not until he and Harry are closed off back in the privacy of the hotel room that Louis drops his guard a bit, and he’s not sure if he feels on-edge because of what he knows he’s about to do, or if he feels relaxed because finally, _finally_ he can say what he’s been thinking all day.

  Harry, however, is completely oblivious to Louis’s thoughts; he simply grabs a bottle of orange juice from the mini-fridge and swallows down a hearty gulp, collapsing on the bed and flicking the television on.

  “Wanna watch something?  I think _Good News_ is on,” Harry suggests, tongue licking at his upper lip absently to catch the beads of orange juice that still cling to his skin.

  Louis clears his throat and plucks the remote from Harry’s hand, turning the television off and setting the control down on the table, just out of Harry’s reach. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  Harry’s brow furrows with concern and he shifts uncomfortably, but he nods. “Yeah?” he prompts.

  “Mm,” Louis nods. “Last night, I saw something rather…erm, strange.” _Fuck_ , why is he stumbling over his words?  He’s too worked up, his tongue tripping over itself in his excitement, and he’s trying to swallow the nagging fear that Harry won’t like Louis’s idea, that he’ll just flat-out turn Louis down or think him strange for wanting to try this.

  Harry starts fiddling with the label of the juice bottle nervously, peeling it off, but he seems determined to keep his cool. “What was it?”

  “Saw you wanking,” Louis says, watching Harry’s expression carefully.

  “’M sorry, Lou, but I was just – I needed it, s’all.  I didn’t mean to, like…weird you out, or anything,” Harry insists, back stiffening and eyes widening as excuses pour out of his mouth.

  “Right next to me, while I was _sleeping_?”  Louis lets fake-shock fill his voice, and there, _there_ it is; there’s the confidence he’s been lacking.  Now that he’s said it, he knows there’s no going back, and there’s an odd sense of security that falls over him, because he knows that now that he’s started this, he’s sure as hell not going to half-ass it.

  “Sorry!  Shit, I’m really sorry, that was so fucking weird and creepy, but I—” Harry begins.

  “You just needed it _bad_ , right?” Louis says, pursing his lips.

  Harry nods, though he still looks rather ashamed.

  “Well, I suppose that’s understandable.  It was just a one-time thing, right?” Louis offers.

  Harry’s teeth sink into his lower lip and his eyes flicker down toward the ground. “Um…well, n – not exactly.”

  Louis feigns shock, though he’s not all that surprised; really, he’d suspected this all along. “So, do you do this regularly, then?”

  “Um, I…” Harry’s cheeks are pink now, his eyes glimmering and wide as he tries to find the right answer in Louis’s eyes.

  Louis takes pity on him, because no matter how much he likes winding Harry up, he still hates to see him scared like this. “Show me, then.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me; _show me_.”

  Harry blinks up at Louis, lips struggling to form words that he can’t find.

  Louis rolls his eyes a bit, but he can’t even find it in him to be frustrated. “Take off your trousers,” he says, taking the lead in guiding Harry through this.

  Harry seems a little more comfortable now that he’s got actual direction, and he hops to his feet, scrambling to unbutton his jeans.  He shimmies the tight denim down his smooth long legs, kicking them off his feet before sitting back down, looking up at Louis and eagerly awaiting further instruction.  Louis isn’t sure if Harry’s getting off on the idea of wanking in front of him, or if he’s just trying to do what Louis tells him to earn his forgiveness, but either way, he seems to be more than willing to participate in this, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

  “The shirt, too, don’t forget that,” Louis points out, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen someone take their top off faster in his life.  Harry starts to pull off his pants as well, but Louis stops him. “You left those on last night, didn’t you?  I want to see how you do it when you think I don’t see, when you can’t move too much without waking me up.” Louis can’t help the smug little grin that works its way onto his face.

  Harry gives Louis a confused glance but nods, fingers leaving the elastic of his pants around his waist. “Um, I – I need…” he can’t seem to say the word, but he casts a glance over his shoulder to the nightstand.

  Louis doesn’t need him to finish, he just tries not to trip over his own feet in his haste to grab the lube and hand it to Harry.  He’s already growing hard in his trousers, the mere thought of what he’s about to see enough to turn him on.

  Harry takes the lube with shaking fingers, clumsily uncapping the bottle and squirting a decent amount into his palm before tossing the bottle absently onto the bed.  If Louis wasn’t so worked up, he might have taken the time to make a little snide remark about how careless Harry’s being, but he doesn’t have time for that now.

  Harry’s fingers slide back under the elastic waist of his pants, but he pauses to give Louis a quick glance for confirmation.  Louis licks his lips and nods, encouraging him, and Harry slides his pants down his legs, bunching them around his thighs.  The smooth creamy white of his skin breaks out in a wave of goosebumps, making the fine light hairs on his legs stand up on end.  Louis wants to touch him, to close his hands around Harry’s thighs and squeeze them, feel the soft little pudge give way under his fingers.  But no, he’s here to watch a show, and though he knows Harry’s mainly doing this for his benefit, Louis is making up his own strict ‘look, don’t touch’ rule.

  Harry tentatively slicks the lube between both palms before reaching down between his legs, coating his dick with it in one smooth stroke.  It’s already stirring up, growing slowly harder with each passing second, and it clicks into place in Louis’s mind that, _yeah_ , maybe it was the whole ‘exhibitionist’ thing that turned Harry on about this.  Harry’s fingers, long and clumsy in their uncertainty, close around the base of his shaft, pumping up in quick awkward strokes.  It looks too clinical – _robotic_ , almost, and Louis wants to laugh because he never thought he’d describe a wank as being robotic, but he’s not exactly in a joking mood at the moment.

  “Loosen up; make it feel just as good as when you do it on top of the covers next to me,” Louis murmurs.  He wants to pepper soft kisses along Harry’s thighs, up his hips and to his tummy – something to get Harry out of his head – but he remembers that the whole point of this is just to watch.  He wants Harry to do this all on his own.

  Harry nods jerkily, like he can’t move his hand and his head at the same time, and he pauses for a moment, twisting his wrist gently around the base of his cock to find a good angle.  He starts pumping his fist again, but it’s slow and lazy, like he’s just warming and spreading the lube.

  Louis takes this opportunity to unsnap his jeans and wiggle them off his legs, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb Harry, like he’s some sort of timid little kitten who might spook at the slightest noise.  His hand itches to slide under the waist of his pants and free his own cock, but he takes it slow, trying to ignore the pressure that only grows as he gets harder.

  Harry has moved on by this point, and his hand is moving with a little more finesse now.  His fingers slide smoothly across his length, wrist flicking just as he reaches the head, and Louis can see the way his fingertips glide just a little lighter on the way down, tracing the outline of the thick vein along the underside of his shaft.  His other hand is buried in the covers, pulling and clawing at the sheets like it doesn’t know what else to do with itself, and Louis remembers all the things he’d done with that other hand last night with desperate hope to see them properly tonight.

  Harry’s torso starts to contract, the muscles in his tummy tightening and his shoulders starting to curl up off the bed just a bit, and _fuck_ , he must really be getting off on this because he hasn’t even been properly touching himself for that long.

  Louis intervenes, because technically, speaking isn’t touching, right? “Slow down.”

  There’s a brief pause as Harry tries to collect himself enough to figure out what Louis said. “But, ‘m so close—” Harry begins, voice broken and unsteady.

  “ _Slow down_ ,” Louis repeats, trying to find the force to put behind his voice.

  Harry swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the pale stretched skin of his throat, but he obeys, slowing his hand down and drawing it out.  His toes curl in the sheets as the orgasm he’s fighting tries to win over him, and Louis can only imagine how hard he’s working to make Louis happy, and _fuck_ if that doesn’t turn him on even more.  His fingers fumble to pull out his cock, and his hand feels like it can’t move fast enough to give him the friction he needs, like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t start taking care of it.

  “You’re so good, baby, so good, such a good boy,” Louis breathes, because Harry’s _earned_ this praise, he’s doing his very best, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to encourage this while he can.

  Harry’s other hand leaves the covers, and Louis has to bite back a moan as he sees it start to trail up his stomach and towards his nipples, fingernails scratching lightly over his supple skin until they reach the little pink buds, pert and swollen as they raise up from his chest.  Without Louis even needing to tell him, he starts to tease himself, fingernails scratching feather-light over the sensitive skin, just tracing abstract little designs around and across and over it.

  Louis’s knees almost buckle when he sees Harry give it the first real pinch, fingertips squeezing and pulling and fingernails digging in _just_ enough to leave little red half-moons in the already-darkened skin.  He wants to kiss the marks, lick them better and suck on them until he can leave marks all his own, but no, _no touching today,_ he knows this, so he does his best to push the thoughts away.

  “Lou, can I…?” Harry pants, and Louis lets his eyes leave Harry’s nipples to see that his entire body is clenched up, back arching off the bed and hips jerking up into the air to meet his hand.  His face is slick with sweat and his cheeks and chest have flushed the prettiest shade of pink Louis has ever seen, and he really doesn’t look like he could hold back his orgasm even if Louis told him to.

  “Yeah, go on, babe,” Louis says, working his hand faster over his own length as he watches Harry let himself go, jerking his fist spastically for another few seconds before spilling cum across his stomach.  His back arches even higher into the air for just a moment before completely giving out under him, leaving him splayed, wasted and exhausted across the sheets.  His eyes have started to water a bit, making his lashes dampen and cling to each other, but there’s a fucked-out look of sheer bliss on his face, and now Louis figures he can touch as much as he want, because technically speaking, Harry is done.

  He can feel his toes starting to curl, hot tingles curling in the pit of his belly and shooting from the soles of his feet to the tops of his thighs where they meet his hips.  He’s not sure what comes over him, but now that he can touch he feels like he’s swallowed up with one constant idea, and he runs with it.  He climbs over Harry’s legs, straddling his legs, and he bucks his hips into his hand, the bottoms of his thighs grinding against the tops of Harry’s, and just like that he’s gone too, his cum mixing with Harry’s, white seed gathering across the pale expanse of his stomach, and he really doesn’t know why that’s so fucking hot, but it _is_.

  Louis rolls off Harry once he’s finished, landing on his side, and rests his head on Harry’s chest.  He lets his index finger paint little designs in the puddles of cum on Harry’s stomach until it’s started to dry and has gone all tacky, clinging to both of their skin.

  “Does this mean you’re not mad, then?” Harry asks, and though he says it with a smile Louis can hear genuine concern in his voice.

  “Fuck, no,” Louis says with a laugh.

  Harry grins and snuggles in against Louis, his hand tightening on the small of Louis’s back and smearing lube all across his skin, but he doesn’t much care.  They’re both starting to fall asleep, and Louis knows this is going to be a bitch to clean up in the morning once everything has dried, but right now he doesn’t much care.


End file.
